


Hiraeth

by garzaairotciv



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers Family, Established Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Eventual Smut, Kind of a slow burn, Marvel Universe, Multi, Natasha Romanov is a Good Mother, Oops, Polyamory, Porn With Plot, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Natasha Romanov, Protective Steve Rogers, Reader-Insert, Some angst, Soulmates, Stucky - Freeform, We Swear In This House, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:34:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28101000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/garzaairotciv/pseuds/garzaairotciv
Summary: | hiraeth-(𝚗) an intense longing for something, particularly a home|-"...𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚎𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚗, 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎. 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚛𝚊𝚗 𝚊 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚙 𝚜𝚘𝚏𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚠𝚊𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚎𝚜. 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜:𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚢 𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚜..."-{ within a world where superheroes, villains, soulmates, and magick exist, the avengers seek out to recruit the reader into the initiative. except, not everything goes as plan.}-contains: violence, witchcraft, polyamory, and sexual content.f!reader who is a witch.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Reader, Steve Rogers/Reader
Comments: 7
Kudos: 70





	1. superhero analysis: american witch

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: 
> 
> I'm a green witch whose religion is Wicca. the various rituals and spells the reader conducts, as well as the material in the story concerning witchcraft, are very much similar to my own knowledge, rituals, and spells. 
> 
> please read & enjoy !

**S.H.I.E.L.D FILE#27191718**

  
【☽ **AMERICAN WITCH☾** 】

* * *

  
name› f/n l/n 

alias: _**american witch ,**_ _ **mother's mercy**_

threat level: classified 

* * *

【 **PERSONAL INFORMATIOIN** 】

birth name:

 **l/n, f/n m/n**  
「please note that she carries her mother's maiden name rather than her father's.」

birthplace:  
**outskirts of Salem, Massachusetts.**  
「delivered via midwife of the First Blessed Coven」

year of birth:   
**1999**

facial features:

 **heterochromia. left e/c, right violet.**  
「, please note that the violet eye color is a gene passed down through the First Blessed Coven by mother to daughter」

**h/c hair.**

**crescent moon birthmark on the glabella**

****port wine birthmark** **, unknown where** **

additional features:

-multiple piercings and body tattoos.  
-{unknown} soulmate marking(s) on the right hipbone.

education: 

**high school graduate with dual enrollment**

**sophomore college student**

* * *

**【TEMPERAMENT】**

motherly. 

calm. 

resigned.

sweet.

compassionate.

understanding. 

self-sufficient.

sarcastic.

intelligent.

protective. 

sly. 

silent.

merciless.

mature for her age.

defender.

massive supporter of the Black Lives Matter Movement, the Animal Rights Movement, #MeToo Movement, Dreamers, the March for Our Lives, and other current movements.   
can find her at protests concerning current issues affecting society.

|| People who have met her claim she is a mirror to her mother, Rhiannon L/n. 

* * *

**【FAMILY】**

maternal  
L/n, Rhiannon 「mother, alive, First Blessed Coven」

L/n, Theadora 「grandmother, alive, First Blessed Coven」

L/n, Sobhán: 「older sister, alive, First Blessed Coven」

paternal:  
unknown father 「possible warlock」 

unknown grandmother 「possible witch, Triple Moons Coven」

unknown grandfather「possible warlock」

**~~soulmate(s): unknown~~ **

* * *

**【SUPERPOWERS】**

⌜the American Witch has the unrivaled ability to draw up any desired power at the moment, presenting her as a remarkably lethal adversary.   
some of these powers are, but not limited to⌟

-telekinesis  
-telepathy  
-super senses  
-pyrokinesis  
-geokinesis  
-cryokinesis   
-psionic energy  
-healing (herself & others)  
-flight   
-invisibility  
-energy manipulation   
-ancestral call

 **WARNING** || due to her age, many of these mentioned (and unmentioned) powers are still developing.

* * *

**【NOTABLE SKILLS】**

⌜multilingualism⌟

  
-spanish   
-english   
-french   
-german   
-russian   
-italian   
-latin   
-vietnamese  
-burmese   
-mandarin  
-japanese   
-portuguese   
and more. 

  
**NOTE** || her impressive knowledge of languages has earned her the respected title of "mother" by the people of Earth, inspired by George R. R. Martin's famous character Daenery Targaryen and her title "Mhysa."

⌜master infiltrator⌟

⌜marksmanship⌟

⌜horsemanship⌟

⌜zoolingualism⌟

⌜witchcraft⌟

⌜green thumb⌟

⌜baking and cooking⌟

⌜dancing⌟

⌜and more to be documented⌟

* * *

**【RESIDENCE】**

unknown; however, the Avengers Initiative is currently on the search for her, per the request of Nick Fury, S.H.I.E.L.D Director.

last seen with mother, Rhiannon l/n, and grandmother, Theadora l/n, in Salem, MA.

could have moved locations.

proceed with caution.

* * *

**【ADDITIONAL NOTES】**

⌜second-born descendant of the First Blessed Coven⌟ 

⌜possible mutant, not yet proven⌟

⌜powers are still evolving⌟

⌜hasn't been mated yet⌟

* * *

**【** **S.H.I.E.L.D INTEL** **】**

  
Current Mission: 

Locate and safely recruit the American Witch

Handed to: 

The Avengers-

⌜Anthony Stark ( _Ironman_ )⌟

⌜Steven Rogers ( _Captain America_ ) ⌟

⌜James Barnes ( _White Wolf_ )⌟

⌜Natasha Romanoff ( _Black Widow_ )⌟

⌜James Rhodes ( _War Machine_ )⌟

⌜Bruce Banner ( _Hulk_ )⌟

⌜Sam Wilson ( _The Falcon_ )⌟

⌜Clint Barton ( _Hawkeye_ )⌟

⌜Wanda Maximoff ( _Scarlet Witch_ )⌟

⌜Pietro Maximoff ( _Quicksilver_ )⌟

⌜Vision⌟

⌜Peter Parker ( _Spider-Man_ )⌟

Authorized by: 

Director Nick Fury 

**PROCEED WITH CAUTION**

if angered, pray she yields mercy. 

** PROCEED WITH CAUTION **

if angered, pray she yields mercy.

—signed,,

**S.H.I.E.L.D Agency**


	2. 1|| reader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by Rob Zombie's "American Witch"  
> -  
> translations:  
> кто там - whose is there?  
> маленькая дочь - little daughter  
> дочь - daughter

☽We all pray for-20 innocents. We all bow down-20 innocents. We all hang high-20 innocents. We all accused-20 innocents☾

\- Rob Zombie, _American Witch_. 

* * *

【 **READER** 】

Grandmother was right; the ancestors were weeping again.

For the fourth time in this one week alone.

Over the lush farmlands of outer Salem, _your_ Salem, the afternoon sky was swelling into a blubbing mess of darkening clouds and ' _banshee cries'_ \- harsh, shrieking winds, the ones that flogged the pines with little to no mercy. Thick rain droplets plummet in misty sheets, battering against the windowpanes you lean against, watching.

" _Rainwater_ -" your pretty mother's voice echoes throughout your head, words addressed not even an hour ago "- _must be collected with only positive thoughts. A gift from the ancestors, we are forever and more blessed_." 

_“Forever and more blessed.”_

Outdoors, arranged in a neat, straight line on the porch's railing, were the cut-glass mason jars that your grandfather once constructed, gathering enough rainwater to satisfy your entire coven for many weeks to come. You stared at them…hard, silently repeating those four words.

Forever and more blessed.

Perhaps the coven but not the land, that is for sure. You cringe. Already was a floodplain developing near the grazing ground two miles down, where your family's livestock thrived in great numbers. Good thing we ushered the cattle to higher grounds, you thought. 

Sobhán, your older sister, at seeing your expression, lets out a small laugh, “Ah… we're gonna need to take out the buckets once all of this is over, sissy. Just imagine all the little minnows displaced because of this flooding."

“Those new rainboots gonna come in handy, ain’t they now, Sibs?”

“Ya, ya, whatever.”

She playfully clouts at your shoulder before spinning around towards the television. 

On Channel 9- _Salem’s Addition at 3_ \- the greying weatherman prances across the screen, a funny looking face plastered amongst his features. He looks panicked but not quite, attempting his best in hiding it with a dimpled grin. One that does not match his current tone as he drags on about the recent thunderstorm warning in full effect for local areas, the severity, the expectancy of landfall in the next hour or so, and the do's and do-not's

_"-Stay away from windows, in the unfortunate event that hails form."_

Sobhán simply smiles.

_"-It is not recommended to take showers during a storm. Remember middle-school science class? The one you tried desperately not to fall asleep in? Here is a recap if you need one- electricity can travel great miles through simple plumbing."_

“Ya, and that is the coolest thing about it, dude,” Sobhán chirps. “Ten points if _Electric Love_ by Borns is playing in the background.”

_"-Attempt to limit the usage of technology and electrical appliances by family members."_

And lastly, _"Do not wander outside, under no means whatsoever. Keep a continuous eye out for braving children and the elderly. They are the easiest to lose in these conditions. Update yourself with notifications from your local weather service."_

Your grandmother, blessed be her heart, with her magnificent, mauve eyes and slight cleft lip, scoffs. "Keep a watch out for the elderly. Pfft, whatever, old man. Elder on elder crime, I’ll tell you. Girls, when was the last time granny was struck by lightning?" 

"Two days ago, mom," Rhiannon replies, hardly lifting her face from the grimoire wide-open on her lap. She was on the hunt for a particular spell used only during a thunderstorm- the _Divine Connection_ , named by the coven- that somehow vanished within the damn creased sheets, just to her luck. Five times she already cussed in the past three minutes, with language that would make a grown sailor blush beet-red. "You got struck by lightning two days ago."

"Exactly," Theadora crackles, waving a hand around dismissively, "And I never felt more alive before. A little electricity is good for the soul. Right, Sibby? Just nod if you know what's good for ya, sweetheart. Besides, it was probably your grandfather that sent that damn lightnin' bolt down, wishin' to remind me that he'll always be a pain in my ass, even after death. What a bastard! Never marry kids; it's a death trap. Ya find that spell yet, Rhiannon?"

She shakes her head, tossing through wonderfully-filled pages with narrowed eyes that swallow every written word, "Not yet, but it's somewhere here. I'll find it soon, give me a minute, mom." In a spur of the moment, Rhiannon lifts up her stare, settling it on you, "Do we have everything, baby?"

And by everything, she means the amethyst, dalmatian stones, rosemary, and salt that you and your sister were sent out to retrieve for the spell to work properly. The only thing lacking is rainwater.

You nod, “Yes, momma. We just need the rainwater, but that’s pretty easy to get. Sibs said she’ll go outside right now and grab a jar.”

"Good. Can you go check up on your mom? I haven't heard a peep from her, and it is starting to worry me."

Theadora crackles again, somewhere in the back, resembling those witches in those tacky Halloween movies on the Hallmark channel. "Worried for a woman that can castrate a man in two minutes tops? Good one, Ana."

Your mom rolls her eyes but gives you a pointed look.

One that clearly reads, “ _I’m fifteen seconds away from zapping your grandmother into another dimension. Bring me my wife, and maybe I’ll zap her into the next area code instead, to be nice_.”

Biting back bits of laughter, you make an escape before your grandmother could pinch your upper arm, overhearing her holler of “Little traitor!” flung directly at you and Rhiannon shouting for Sobhán to get the tourmaline stones. Tolerance, you snort, as you travel towards the opposite side of the house where your other mother’s workroom is, tucked beneath the wooden stairs in a compartment that Harry Potter would’ve adored.

There is a dim, bluish light slipping from beneath the mahogany door and a faint beeping sound resonating from the room, like in those cheesy, secret spy movies your family enjoys. OO7 typa’ beat…or _Atomic Blonde_. You knock on the door- once, twice, and on the third, a pair of feet shuffle about noisily, followed by a shout in Russian. 

"кто там?"

_‘Who is there?’_

"It’s me, mama-” you respond, and then quickly add, just for a gag and a cheeky smile, “-your favorite daughter."

There is a pause, and then a few moments later, the door cracks open. Your mother’s head pops out, seemingly breathless as dark red lips pull back into a smile, "маленькая дочь! Hello, baby.” Thick ringlets of Romanova red tumble over a broad shoulder before she hauls you into the workroom after her, not thinking twice. “Was I gone for that long?”

She glances at her watch, one perfectly-shaped eyebrow arching in (feign) surprise, “Well, would you look at that? Guess I was.”

“I thought the Red Room taught you assassins better than that?” It's a playful dig at her childhood, and she knows it. 

“Well, keeping track of time wasn’t exactly a class, unlike…y’know, murdering and ballet and all that shit.”

You only chuckle, not being able to prevent your eyes from straying away from the woman in front. The room…it feels… suddenly dangerous to stand in. Like a tiny red dot might be focused on your heart before you could even act. A fairly large computer lies on the L-shaped ebony desk, bordered by various smaller monitors, paperwork, multi-colored cords, and flickering red lights. Spy gadgets, you blink. 

Nothing new to you, considering who your mother is.

Speaking of your mother, she’s hunkering back in the chair, typing away at the email to someone - S.H.E.I.D, as you lean forward to squint at the 'TO _.'_ Realization floods as you finally grasp why she's been in here all this time and not with the rest of the family. "Work again? What happened now?"

Your mother sighs, polishing up the response before forwarding it to whoever it was directed at. Afterward, she twirls in her chair, rubbing at her temple with manicured fingertips, “It’s nothing, sweetheart. Nothing at all. Just paperwork, stubborn colleagues, the usual. Nothing a little witch like yourself should be concerned with."

She looks tired, though. Gorgeous, like always, but exhausted beyond belief. Tense as well, if her stiff shoulders and muscled biceps are any indications to that. Plus, there is almost a distant look within her green eyes that unveils she is miles away from you, from Salem, and any place nearby. Perhaps back in New York, where her team is. Or Russia.

Soviet Russia. 

You don't ask. It doesn’t seem to bring it up—kind of like a crime or a bad-daughter thing to do. Whatever work-related issue bothering your mom is typically dropped and disregarded at the house's doorway, due to some impromptu rule established years ago by Rhiannon. However, this doesn’t seem like the ‘usual,’ despite what she says.

Her emotions seem…off. They’re deafening. Rancid. Overflowing with accentuating fear and anxiety, a screeching clash that muddles within your poor consciousness. Just like the ancestors outside, with their constant wailing and screaming and bashing of nature.

You practically feel the need to grab at your head to alleviate the headache-like pain.

“Mom, are you sure you are okay? It- it doesn’t feel exactly like that?” It’s not meant to be a question, but it comes off as one.

Her head tilts, voice soft, kittenish curious, “What does it feel like, then, дочь?" 

“I don’t know. Fear? Anxiety? Are you worried about something in the incoming future? It feels like… like a heavy blanket tossed over your shoulder. Not to mention it's hurting my head.”

Mom exhales sharply, brows tugging together. You watch her struggle to streamline the correct words into a sentence, which is so unlike her that you tilt your head in curiosity as well. She’s debating something.

“There is something, yes, but it is nothing for you to worry about. Not right now, anyway. When the time comes, maybe then. But in the meantime, why don’t we go help your mother find that spell, because I just know she hasn’t. Will she admit it? No, because she is just as stubborn as a mule.”

Your lips part before stretching in a smile.

"Sure, that seems fine."

She hurries you out of the room with a promise to be right on your tail, to help out poor Rhiannon, and when you do leave, she rolls back around to the computer instead. There is a corner notification that signals an email has been delivered into her mailbox.

It is from Director Nick Fury, and although he is a good friend of hers, he feels more like an enemy at the moment. A breath hitches in her throat as she reads the body, again and again, pausing to reread a specific sentence that flags her attention.

“ _Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes are growing weary of not having their third soulmate with them. Her name has already appeared on their skin, probably due to your relations with the three of them. I can only hold them off for so long, Agent Romanov.”_

And that is what troubles Natasha Romanov. Truly. 

She knows these two men, better than anyone; she likes to think. They’re like the brothers she never had, part of a family that the Red Room never triumphed in ripping away from her.

They’re also the type that, when they want something, will not cease until they obtain it. And they want, no, _desire_ , her daughter. 

Natasha’s features harden, mouth yanked back into a scowl as she promptly trashes the email and slams the computer shut. “Let them try to take my daughter away from me,” she mumbles as she turns to exit the room. 

“-Maybe it’s fucking time these men learn just how venomous the Black Widow is to a human." 


	3. 2|| avengers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> beginning of the journey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: protective black widow mama

* * *

【 **TWO YEARS LATER||** **AVENGERS** 】

Fury hands Tony a shut manilla folder, lips squeezed in a tight line. 

"What's this?"

Thick eyebrows raise as the man curiously meddles with the exterior of the mostly blank folder, where ' **S.H.I.E.L.D FILE #27191718'** is calligraphed in black, bold, and large lettering. His face scrunches up. "Shield File #27191817? Haven't heard about this one yet," he remarks while shifting in the quite uncomfortable chairs supplied for the many conference rooms, posture lacking.

"-And why are we the only ones that needed to stay behind, may I ask?"

He then gestures around the predominantly deserted room save for the two men and Steve; the rest of the team was given an early dismissal for the night after the mission debriefing. 

Lucky bastards, Tony said (with just a tinge of malice). 

Steve thought so too.

"Some of us are tired, as well. Mission was an absolute bitch."

Fury crosses his arms, giving Tony a sharp glare that doesn’t take less than twenty to shut the man up. "It'll do you some good to keep that mouth shut, Stark, especially right now. Bless Pepper and her patience; I do not know how that woman does it. Anyway, what I'm handing you is your new mission, just slightly different from the rest, but before I begin-" He turns to Steve, who is sitting at attention, "-Any unwanted comment from you, Spangles?" 

Steve shakes his head, "No, sir." 

"Good. Now, concerning #27191817, I want you guys to bring her in."

"Her?"

Fury hums, nodding. "Yes, _her_. A young woman. You have some experience with the female sex, do you not, Stark? Do not answer that question; it was rhetorical.” Steve bites back a bark of laughter. “Essentially, she was a ghost story, for years and years, similar to Barnes during his seventy years of HYDRA. We had some sort of clue about her existence but nothing else. I chalk most of that up to the fact that she was very much a child and hidden away from the public's eyes by her family; however, because she just hit her twentieth birthday, I want you to bring her in. Recruit her, offer a position as an Avenger. Earth's mightiest heroes, all that glorious shit."

Tony glances down at the file, then at Steve, back to the file, and eventually settling on Fury. A frown curves on his lips. Any similarity to Bucky Barnes isn’t always the best news, at least to him.

"So...is she like the Manchurian Candidate? Is this one of those "fuck we are gonna die" scenarios that we continuously had with him? Cause, mind you, I did not fancy those." Steve sends him a scowl at his (in)famous boyfriend’s stupid nickname, but he ignores it. 

"Like Barnes? No."

Both men let loose a breath, perhaps of relief, because just that clarification is like five miles closer to the edge of the forest.

Hansel and Gretel might evade the evil witch this time.

"Dangerous like Barnes? More."

Never mind; the witch snagged the two poor children and is hauling them back to the awaiting stove. 

Steve leans back, fingernail trapped between his top and bottom teeth. Nazi-occupied France and Germany prepared him more than enough in dealing with bombs. Months of continuous ducking and covering in the nearest deserted building, in some war-torn town daubed red with unfortunate, unintended casualties, with the Howling Commandos and R.A.F. would leave any man with experience.

But this? Holy hell, this is another type of bomb. 

Tony is the first to speak up, "Are you kidding? You have to be kidding. Was is it that the kid always says? Say sike right now! The goddamn Winter Soldier was credited with a fuck load of assassinations, including Kennedy, mind you, but you’re telling me there is someone more dangerous than him?" He rubs gingerly at his temple, clenching his eyes shut, feeling a massive headache forming. 

"The Scarlet Witch is more dangerous than Barnes,” Fury fires back, “A lot more dangerous than both of you, him, and that entire team combined, come to think about it...:"

"Yeah, but she's a witch. What can you expect-"

Steve hikes up a hand, cutting off his friend, minding the dirty look he shoots him, "That is just her namesake, Tony. She's not actually a witch, just a powerful being with abilities enhanced with the help of HYDRA; she even told YOU that. Genuine witches are extremely different in nature, not to mention loyal to their customs and beliefs. Wanda isn’t tied to those sorts of things." 

"Spangles is right," Fury smirks. "If I had to bet my money between your 'witch' and an actual witch, say from the First Blessed Coven of Salem, the greens are going towards the latter." 

Tony grumbles something incoherent under his breath before loudly announcing, "Guess it's a good thing we aren't dealing with one from there, huh?" There's a knot bordering the base of his neck, and he desperately wants Pepper to massage it under the cool, dim lights of the bedroom, maybe with a bottle of fine Cabernet Sauvignon resting on the bedside table. 

But no, instead of that, he's dealing with Fury's dumb-fucking smirk that just won't disappear. 

Fuck. 

He takes a good side-glance at Steve, waiting for him to pierce the dots.

The blonde's eyebrows furrow together, but his mind is unfortunately submerged in thoughts of different ‘affairs.’ Ideas of what type of dinner does he feel like eating? Should he take a shower or a nice, relaxing bath? (He's favoring more the bath.) And how should he properly seduce his handsome boyfriend to the point where he is buried balls deep within him, milking orgasm after orgasm in colored, bath-bombs waters. Lavender. Golden Fizzy. And his personal favorite- Cosmic.

There is also the thought of finally having their third soulmate with them, squished in between both men as they lather her luscious body with scented bodywash, the type Wanda purchases for her birthday and the type Steve wouldn't mind smelling later during sex. 

So yeah, it takes Steve a minute or so longer to connect everything. 

And when he does, the bomb finally detonates.

"So what you're telling us is that we are dealing with a witch- a genuine and powerful one, at that."

Fury hums. "Son of a bitch," Steve remarks, shaking his head. 

"Well, nothing else to say but… I enjoyed my life so far," Tony sniffs, "Pretty sad it came to an end so quickly, but I had a good run. Tell Pepper I love her… and the sex was beyond awesome." 

The Director rolls his eyes, turning to exit the conference room and catching a flash of movement outside. With one hand poised on the doorknob, he stares back at the men, "You two are some of the most dramatic bastards I have ever met. Listen, if she does not feel threatened, she won't attack. Look at her as if she's a spider, a black widow if you wish. Unless you create a hostile environment where she feels cornered and in danger, where she'll feel the need to resort to her bite, you guys will be safe. Probably. Otherwise, everything else is in that file. Temperament. Powers. Skills, all that. Study it carefully if you wish not to return back in a body bag."

A threat, and a good one at that. Leaves the room feeling thirty degrees colder than usual. 

A shiver darts up Steve's spine at the same time as the phone in his lap vibrates noisily. Meanwhile, Tony slouches in his chair, looking up at the ceiling in frustration. "Lemme guess, Ice Age texted you, and now you somehow managed to fall more in love with him?" Tony snorts at the expression on his buddy's face, "Ding, ding, ding. I'll choose my prize later; now, what did he say?"

Steve looks down at the lit-up lock screen, finding himself smiling at the text notification displayed.

**Buck**

_Sam wants to know which pizza toppings you want._

_I tried telling him, but the bitch claims that, since I forgot my identity in the past, I am unable to remember your favorite type of pizza,_

_Whatever. Points were made. Just confirm that it's mushrooms and sausage so I can rub it in his ugly-ass face._

"Sausage? You 1910s assholes know nothing about the good toppings."

Steve types back smiling, coinciding with his adorable boyfriend and purposely ignoring Tony's implore to tell Bucky that he has his blessing to fight Sam, but only if Natasha or Clint films it for his Twitter and millions of followers. "Natasha's not even at the tower, Tony," Steve says, rolling his eyes, "She's on that mission in rural Italy gathering intel about that huge mafia bust. Nice try, though. Don't need you switching teams once that is over." 

“That double agent shit is not my thing,” he murmurs, peeping down at the file. The corner already crumpled where he’d been continuously stroking it for the duration of the extended meeting with Fury, and his stomach tightens. He'll give Natasha a call tomorrow morning, updating her about the newest mission that requires her to be present.

Plus she's always complaining about the lack of feminine ingenuity and the redolence of testosterone. 

“But tell Barnes that we’re gonna need a shit load of alcohol. Asgardian Ale, to name a few. A shame our dear Nat’s not here with us but hey, more vodka for us. She’ll understand; she's so... sweet.”

* * *

Nick Fury hardly makes it down the hallway when a familiar redhead wordlessly slips into step with him. “Ah, Agent Romanov. Back so soon? How was Italy?”

“Same experience at Olive Garden. You gave them her file, why?”

Fifteen minutes Natasha stood outside that damn door; her jaw clenched unbelievably hard while listening along as Fury discussed her youngest child. That was the movement he saw. 

He sighs, dragging himself to a quick halt. His eye trains on the floor before it flashes up at the woman. She’s still donning her ebony catsuit, a Glock 26 and a Heckler and Koch P30 secured into both hostlers at her hips, with her black widow emblem glint red- like the dried blood pushed into her hairline.

Tonight is looking to be a bad night.

Perhaps the worst.

He takes the easiest route imaginable, though there is no easy way to put it. 

“Did you know that a black widow is more likely to bite while defending her precious eggs?” he asks, leaning against the wall. “And though her bites rarely kill people, some even claim her venom is ten times more poisonous when she is a recent mother.”

A small grin sports on Natasha’s lips. Glint red as well, with just a flicker of hidden, unfriendly fangs.

The Director continues, “Your information isn’t listed in your daughter’s file, only your wife’s, as you requested. They’ll have no idea of your relations with her. Perhaps that is good; perhaps we’ll soon regret that. And no matter how much I wish, we cannot hold it off any longer.”

There is a slight bout of rather uneasy silence, where the two of them are just staring each other down before Natasha shifts, crossing both arms over her chest. He notices her fangs again. Fatal. 

“Yes, you can; you just wish not to. Her mother and I are still training her back home, where she belongs,” she spits.

“Rogers and Barnes already have her name on their skin,” Fury reminds, gently but firmly, “Been that way since she turned 18; the only saving grace was that I managed to hack into the system and fool them for two more years. They no little to no information about her. And we both know they’ll have my head like I’m the 1940s’ Johann Schmidt if they ever discover I was the reason for that.” He feels for Natasha, though. Truthfully. She’s one of his finest agents, reasonably the best assassin next to Barnes, but she’s a mother as well. And lord knows she deserves such a title after everything she's been through. 

-but mothers will do anything for their children.

“Your daughter is a fine warrior already; you have trained her well, Nat. She’ll be an exceptional addition to the team, where the two of you will be working side by side. A mother-daughter duo unlike no other,” he tries, to no avail, because Natasha is now walking away, flinging some final words over her shoulder:

“You promised me that I’m allowed to protect my daughter no matter what, now don’t be surprised when I do exactly. F.R.I.D.A.Y., don’t alert the team of my presence here. I’m still in Italy.”

And Black Widows will poison any foes that dare endanger their hatchlings.


End file.
